Of Nightmares and Birthday Cake
by MythicElf
Summary: The four-year-old Kylius is excited about becoming a Companion. Maybe Marcurio's the tiniest bit jealous. Oneshot, Soul of a Dov!verse, established Male!Dunmer!Dovakiin x Marcurio, little bit of nondescript sexy in the beginning... will change the rating if necessary.


A/N: so, this first part popped into my head the moment I decided to get Dal knocked up, it sounds _hilarious _to me, the poor buggers... Enjoy the sadism with me!

And I know it's kind of necessary to become a werewolf to complete the Companions questline - and therefore become Harbinger - but I don't want Dal to wolf it up. He's still a regular Dunmer... besides the Dovakiin part.

...

_"Yes, Dal, just like that..."_

Marcurio pressed his face down beneath Dal's chin, panting into the warm skin of his neck. His hands held the Dovakiin's waist, hips rolling up into that delicious heat, body positively thrumming with pleasure.

Dal closed his eyes as his body rocked up with each thrust. His hair fell down lazily around his head, framing their faces with a curtain of white. Everything was blazing hot to his oversensitive skin, from Marc's mouth at his neck to the hold the mage had on his hips to the pulsing organ he had buried so _wonderfully _deep inside the Dragonborn. It felt amazing, and there was a desperate edge to his movements as he drew so close to his end he could _taste it _and -

"Daddy?"

Dalamus could barely restrain his groan, and Marcurio let his head fall back with a sigh. He didn't bother turning around to ask, voice thick and gravelly with sex, "Yes, Kylius?"

"I... I had a bad dream..." and Dal felt bad for wanting his son to go back to bed because the four-year-old sounded on the verge of tears. He got down from Marcurio's lap - carefully, ignoring the little sigh he let out - and shrugged on the mage's discarded shirt. Ky was standing in the doorway, fingers busy with the front of his shirt, eyes wet and a little scared.

"It's okay, come here," the Dovakiin murmured, taking the little boy into his arms, "I'll make you something warm to drink and we can talk about it."

A few minutes later Kylius was holding a flagon of sweet apple cider as he retold the story of his nightmare. He sipped at the drink every few words or so, picking up seamlessly afterwards - he was very well spoken for a child his age - and had drained half the cup by the time he neared the ending, "... and the big ghost-wolf picked me up with its mouth and ate me." He shivered visibly, clenching the cup tight with pudgy baby fingers.

Okay, no more scary stories with the Companions.

"Well, I can tell you that all the ghost-wolves are gone," Dal said with a smile, putting a gentle hand on Ky's head.

"How do you know?"

"I killed them all." he and Marcurio had decided early on that it would be pointless to try and shield Ky from what they did; they were adventurers, they killed things, and he knew that.

"_Really_?" the little one asked, eyes wide with wonder and a little bit of a grin on his face.

"Yep," he smiled, rolling back the sleeve from his left arm and showing his son a dark line on its underside, "I got this when one bit me."

"Whoa," Kylius touched the scar, tiny fingers poking at the slightly puckered skin in awe, "Did it hurt?"

"Probably. I don't remember."

"What's this one from?" Ky turned his father's hand over, asking about a set of slashes trailing up his elbow.

But Dal wasn't getting into this in the middle of the night. "Oh, no you don't. Go back to bed."

Kylius just looked at him, amber eyes disappointed, and pouted a little.

"_Ky_."

"Aw, okay," the boy huffed, sat the flagon down and got down from the bench. As he went up the stairs he called, "Good night, Daddy. Good night, Papa!"

Dalamus and Marcurio responded at the same time, "Night."

The Dunmer drained the rest of Ky's cider before going back up to bed himself. He curled up against Marc's front, pleased with the silent consensus that they weren't going to pick up where they'd left off, and closed his eyes.

"Is he okay?" the Imperial murmured into his hair.

After a brief nod that was more felt than seen he answered, "Vilkas has been filling his head with stuff from ages ago."

"Like?"

"Ghost-wolves and what not."

"Ah, you told me about that. Do you still think it's a good idea for him to be a Companion when he gets older?"

Dal opened his eyes, but didn't look up. "Why not?"

"He might _get _a ghost-wolf."

"I became a Companion and I didn't 'get a ghost-wolf.'" he did look up, this time.

"He's not you, Dal."

They stared at each other for a moment, the Dunmer with curiosity in his eyes, the Imperial with some sort of concern his husband couldn't quite wrap his head around. But Dalamus wasn't doing this now; it was the middle of the night, he was tired, and Ky was only four. They had time to discuss his Companionship. So he sighed and nuzzled his face back into the crook of Marc's neck, shut his eyes and waited for sleep.

...

The next day was the fourteenth of Rain's Hand and they were making a cake for Dal's birthday. They'd pretty much kicked him out of the house; even Ky had demanded, hands on his hips and a wrinkle in his little forehead, that he leave. What could Marcurio say, when it came to his parents, the kid had no allegiance whatsoever.

So with Dal out doing whatever they got to work.

Marcurio handled the baking of the cake single-handedly, he didn't want to risk Ky burning himself, but once it cooled off the boy was all over decorating it. They knew the Dunmer loved sweets, so there was no skimping of the icing, though a good deal of it ended up in Kylius' mouth.

And he had no regrets.

…

Kylius was sitting on the bench, swinging his legs over the edge and wondering how long it would be until his bare feet could touch the ground when Dalamus came home. The Dunmer had barely made it two steps in the door before his leg was claimed by a grinning four year old, clumsy fingers grasping for a handhold among the various straps of his armor and boots.

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" Kylius beamed, looking up at his father with excited amber eyes. "Me and Papa made -"

"_Ky_, don't ruin the surprise!" and that was Marcurio, coming down the stairs.

"Oh yeah, can't tell you!" he giggled and let go of Dal's leg.

As soon as the space was unnoccupied Marcurio moved in to fill it, wrapping his arms around his husband and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Happy birthday, love."

"Thank you," he smiled back, trying to ignore the sting the hug enticed in his shoulders, resigning to just be held.

"You're so tense," the mage remarked, rubbing Dal's biceps lightly. "What have you been doing?"

Dalamus sighed a chuckle. "The members of the Circle jumped me since it's my birthday; I've been fighting all day."

Marc cooed, kissing his brow, and whispered, "I can massage that out for you later."

"Looking forward to it," and then he turned to Kylius, who had gone over to grip the end of Marcurio's shirt. "And you, little one; do you think you want to be a Companion when you get old enough?"

"Mhm!" he didn't even have to think about it; that nod was immediate.

Dal smiled. "Well I talked to Aela and the rest of the Circle; we decided that, if you still want to, you can start training when you turn seven."

The boy's face fell. "But that's so _long_, Daddy!"

"It'll go by fast, I promise."

Marcurio frowned. "You already got confirmation?"

"I'm the Harbinger; I can do things like that." Dal crossed his arms. "You have a problem with this?"

The mage narrowed his eyes at him, just a little bit, and glanced down at his son. "Ky, stay in here; I have to talk to Daddy for a second."

Kylius nodded and watched his Papa take his Daddy's hand and lead him out the front door.

"What's the matter with you?" Dalamus hissed, calm façade gone but voice kept quiet in case their son was eavesdropping on the other side of the door.

"You know how I feel about this, Dal." Marcurio was equally adamant, arms crossed as he stared evenly at his husband. "He just had a nightmare about this _last night_."

"That's because Vilkas has been telling him stories, I told you that. Did you _see_ how excited Ky was?"

The mage frowned. "I don't care how excited he was, he's four. He'll change his mind a hundred times before he settles on what he wants to do if you let him."

"So, what? We're supposed to choose his life for him? At _four?_ That's cruel and you know it. Give him some leeway."

"My life was chosen for me, and look how I turned out."

"Oh." Dal nodded, a dark sort of suspicion tinting his tone. "You want to send him to the University, don't you? Turn him into a good little mage."

Marcurio scoffed. "Yes, I'm completely wrong for wanting my son to follow in my footsteps."

"He's my son, too, you ass." The Dunmer growled, heat flooding down his throat and into his chest. "And he will do what he wishes. Whether you have a say or not."

With that he turned and went back into the house, putting a little more force into opening the door than he'd intended but feeling no remorse when it hit the wall with a crash, knocking over an empty bowl and a few books.

Ky jumped, letting out a shocked squeak, and stared with wide eyes for a little while before he processed the sight of Dalamus storming across the room and up the stairs.

_Daddy only stomps like that when he's angry. Why's he angry? It's his birthday, he can't be angry! You're s'posed to be happy on your birthday. _He got down from the bench and scrambled up the stairs, tripping a few times in his haste, and followed the _thump thump_ of Daddy's boots into his bedroom. He didn't really register the equally loud slam of the door shutting, but some part of his brain that he wasn't paying attention to knew that Papa had just come in the house.

Dalamus was sitting on his side of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced right under his nose, and his lips were pressed into a thin, straight line. The glare he was leveling with the wall simmered dangerously in his eyes, and that spot beneath his collarbone rumbled, ready to Shout if he so wished.

But there was the little _slapslapslap_ of tiny, bare feet coming across the wood, towards him, and he couldn't Shout in front of Kylius. Not yet, at least. Not for a long while. It was one thing for Ky to know that they killed things, and an entirely different thing to know that he was _dovakiin._ He'd leave that part out for now.

"Daddy?"

So he cleared his throat of that dangerous rumble and looked down when his son climbed up onto the bed, amber eyes wide and curious and concerned. "Yes, Ky?"

"Why you angry?" he cocked his head slightly, and that patch of skin between his brows tightened just like Marcurio's did when he was confused.

"Oh, it's okay, I'm not," it should've been really bad that it was so easy to lie to Ky like that, because what would he use that for in the future? But at the moment, he didn't care. "Papa and I just had a little misunderstanding."

Ky nodded, believing him instantly, and climbed into his lap. "I still get to be a Companion?"

"Of course," Dal said, resolute. If that was what he wanted to do, he could do it. No matter what Marcurio thought.

The toddler grinned, rambling a little about how he was going to do _this_ and _that_ and ride into battle on his trusty steed and come back with the heads of his enemies – yeah, no more stories from Vilkas – and then stopped, as if he'd suddenly thought of something. He got down from Dal's lap without a word and ran out of the room, down the stairs if his ears were right.

In the sudden silence he heard the little clinking of Marc using the alchemy station downstairs. He tended to do that when he was ticked off, made potions until his fingers got tired. But he always ground the ingredients too much and the potions ended up too thin; he once tried telling the mage but he never got any result out of it, so he gave up. Let _him_ drink those weak things.

The clinking stopped; it was replaced by the low murmur of Marcurio's voice and the higher octave of Ky's. There were footsteps, two pairs, and they paused for a moment before beginning again. The louder, steadier pair got progressively quieter, probably heading back into that room under the stairs, and the sporadic cadence of Kylius' feet came toward him, up the stairs. When the excited little toddler popped into his room on quick little feet he was carrying a thick, golden slice of sweetcake, laden with icing and crumbling a little on one side from the weight of the fork sticking out of it.

"Happy birthday, daddy!" he squealed, shoving the plate under his nose and studying him closely to make sure he approved.

He actually grinned, taking a big whiff of the cake because it smelled so _good_. "Thanks, Ky! You made this? It looks good." and he ruffled that mop of white hair as the toddler giggled at the praise.

"I didn't, papa did, but I put the icing on!" ah, no wonder it was so thick. The boy would really enjoy the thick shell of honey on his own slice. But for now he seemed content to stare almost unblinkingly into his father's face, making sure the cake that he and Marcurio had labored over was completely and utterly appreciated. He wasn't disappointed, either; Marc always did have skill in the kitchen, so any special occasion that involved food was the domain in which he ruled. Ky, of course, was just glad to help.

When he finished the cake he took the plate down the stairs himself, seeing no need in having Kylius tote his things around all night. After dinner the toddler kept himself occupied by fawning over the slice of cake that was probably half the size of his stomach – which was more or less a bribe so he'd shush and stay still for more than a few seconds at a time. The Dragonborn didn't want to stay mad at Marcurio; he hadn't wanted to be mad at him in the first place. So as the four-year-old indulged himself Dal walked into the alchemy room and wound his arms around the mage's torso, enticing a slight jump but – thankfully – not making him drop anything.

The Imperial stilled, putting his tools down, and Dal nuzzled his face into his husband's shoulder blade. Marc's hand covered the slightly smaller blue one, rubbing the knuckles with his thumb, and smiled when the Dunmer sighed against his spine.

Had he been in the wrong? Yes. Had he felt like an ass? Hell, yes. Did he owe Dal big time? There was no question. But they had essentially solved the entire conflict with a hug and a sigh. Dal forgave him for being selfish.

Ky had no nightmares that night.

Let nothing be said about why that was such a good thing.


End file.
